


A point man walks into a bar

by megan_el, skyeofskynet



Series: The points’ annual drinking night [1]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: BAMF Arthur, Dom Cobb Being an Asshole, Dreamsharing, Drinking, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, M/M, Post-Canon, Protectiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:33:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29637459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megan_el/pseuds/megan_el, https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyeofskynet/pseuds/skyeofskynet
Summary: You don’t bring phones and weapons to the points’ annual drinking night, but you better do bring a knife to a gunfight. Also, some things are getting crossed off of the ongoing will-they-won't-they list of bets.Or, in other words: Arthur’s connections may or may not be his friends as well.
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Series: The points’ annual drinking night [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2177691
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	A point man walks into a bar

**November 2010**

"You know the rules," Erin begins, taking her place at the table, all business as usual. "No phones, no photos, no tweets. No evidence of this meeting is to leave this room. We can't have people know that Arthur wears T-shirts."

Arthur, who is indeed wearing a T-shirt and a pair of jeans torn at the knee, but is also on his third colorful drink, umbrella included, honestly doesn't give a shit at the moment.

"And while we're discussing Arthur, congratulations on ditching Cobb, finally."

"Or the other way around. We don’t care. It’s the end result that matters."

They all fucking toast.

The new guy lifts his eyebrows. Well, technically, he's not the new guy anymore, that was last year, but Arthur missed the last year's meeting because of the things better not talked about in the present company. "Eames is next, am I right?"

Arthur may be staring at his drink, but he also doesn't fucking miss the way the others exchange glances. He sometimes hates these people.

"Eames doesn't require ditching," he says finally.

The ohhs and ahhs and the laughter, he's going to remember every one of those. He hates these people, period.

"So I guess we can cross that one off of the ongoing will-they-won't-they list of bets and distribute the winnings later." Erin has her Moleskine out. "And while we are at it, some updates are obviously required. Sandra and Dinah."

Anežka covers that one. "Hooked up during Kovac job in Dubrovnik."

"Called it!" Erin boasts with a grin as Evan groans.

"Fuck, I bet on May 2012."

"That's their wedding date. In Amsterdam, since Poland is still embarrassingly behind on marriage equality." Anežka tends to acquaint them with the details of the matter, as her Polish girlfriend usually wants to set her country on fire. Architects can be so bloodthirsty sometimes, who would have guessed?

"Fuck them, I am not waiting another year to get the story out of him." Rachel almost throws her drink in Arthur's face, gesticulating. "Arthur, details."

"No."

"Come on, as if you'd never participated in the betting process."

"Not my fault you're a bunch of oversharing assholes." Arthur takes another sip. "I, on the other hand, am a gentleman and the gentleman never―"

Rachel snorts. "I saw you kick half a dozen guys off of the board of an aircraft carrier, you're no gentleman." She pulls out her phone from her bra, the traitor. "And Eames definitely isn't. I'm texting him."

Anežka is having none of it, taking Rachel's phone and drowning it in her drink.

"Hey!"

"You don't bring a knife to a gunfight and you don't bring a phone to the points’ annual drinking night, Rach."

"The fuck you don't bring a knife to a gunfight, every leverage counts, ask Jonas about Stuttgart."

"Jonas doesn't talk about Stuttgart."

"Jonas is not even here," Evan points out. "Preparations for the _Weihnachtsmarkt_ gig started sooner this year."

"We also don't bring weapons to the points’ annual drinking night―"

"―because it's enought that we can kill each other with our bare hands, which Arthur seems to be on the verge of."

"Wait, wait," Evan cuts in. "Since I am on the verge of losing a shitload of money, I need to know if I can afford buying you all next round. Arthur, if you could kindly enlighten us about the _how_ part. Just to be clear, we ended up with _Finally shutting him up with his penis_ as the most popular option."

"Seriously? You bet on that?"

Arthur, who beside his bare hands, would be also using chairs, plastic cutlery, and a napkin holder, wishes he kept his mouth shut. Whatever they put in these drinks is not cheap, that's for sure.

"Did somebody bet on the competence kink?" he hears himself say and he mentally groans.

"You don't say."

Arthur―rather glad about the rule that nothing that's said in this room can be used against anybody present, therefore Eames will never learn about it, ever―finishes his drink in one gulp. And while Eames is probably the only person who could talk his way into this meeting while not being a poin tman himself, he's apparently all about respecting Arthur's boundaries. Arthur is, as it turned out, not very good at reading people.

"It might or might not have included a rather genius use of sublevel forgery to trick a mark to incept himself, astonishing skiing mastery, and a grenade launcher."

Rachel tilts her head. "Wait, inception?"

"Wait, a grenade launcher?" The new guy slides lower in his seat as if afraid Arthur would pull it out from his pocket or something.

"Looks like no one guessed that, so you can donate the proceedings to our Unfuck-the-Fuckup Fund." Arthur stands up and doesn't wobble on his feet only through sheer willpower. "You can also go fuck yourselves. I'm leaving."

All that talk made him miss Eames.

No, not Eames. Home. He misses home.

Where Eames may or may not be at this time, but that's irrelevant.

"None of that, Arthur," Rachel says and pulls him back onto his chair by the belt loop. 

He goes with it because Eames did just that before leaving for a job in Copenhagen and Arthur ended on Eames' lap back then, so his brain short circuits for a second now. That, and liquor, and a slight issue with his willpower apparently, is enough for Rachel. They're all professionals after all―at least while they’re not gossiping like a bunch of old ladies whose collective age is close to witnessing the fall of the Roman Empire―which cannot be said about the rest of the Dreamsharing Underworld.

"Let's stop making Arthur leave and move to another topic on the list. What do you want first, the shittiest thing they made you do or the weirdest place you had to find for a job?"

Erin, busy taking notes, looks up. "I am voting for the weirdest place you had to kidnap the mark from."

Chen, who's been silent since he got there, finally raises his head from his arms. Just for a moment, though, since he clearly lost his battle with half a bottle of vodka.

"Beat that. Hemispherectomy." It’s fascinating that he can still pronounce it right, despite the amount of liquor he drank at one go. "We had to do the job before they removed a half of Mark's brain. Because my extractor had half of the brain to take that job in the first place."

Arthur nods. Quite impressive―both the stupidity and the contribution to the topic at hand.

"Furry convention," he says, because while he's not usually inclined to judge other people for their kinks ― he gladly judges them for everything else ― he still can't look at rabbits the same way.

US fucking Marine Corps didn't manage to break his brain and here he is, traumatized by the bunnies.

The silence that follows calls for a round of shots, once Evan decides that he can afford them after all.

"I wish they would, you know, stay behind for once to clear their own bloody mess," he says when he brings back the tray of glasses. "No, they all scatter for the mandatory laying-low period. Me? Left to bleach the entire fucking warehouse. And if it was just fingerprints, I’d get it, but three months worth of takeaway boxes was too much for me. I swear, the life form that developed in the pizza boxes was so advanced it was about to invent the wheel."

Rachel, still busy trying to save her phone from the damage, looks up. "Don't tell me they ordered food directly to the warehouse."

"They did. Had to kill the delivery guy."

A collective groan echoes around the table.

"Just kidding. I'm writing off the bribery as expenses since Delhi, 2007."

"That's how it is with them all," Anežka says with a grimace. "They will come up with a plan that involves a shitload of research, but when you need to hijack something or bribe a dentist, they're nowhere to be seen."

Rachel nods. "That's why I love to work with Eames. He's always ready to handle both, hijacking things and bribing people. Sometimes with their own money."

The conversation is dangerously circling back towards the news of the evening, but thankfully the new guy saves the day. Arthur might start using his name from now on.

"Nobody told me this job includes a shitload of kidnapping," the newbie, Olav, groans after coming back with another full tray. Arthur realizes he’s apparently losing track of all the rounds, but then he’s presented with yet another colorful drink that includes at least half of a pineapple and a cocktail stick full of cherries, so he shrugs and goes with it.

"Guns, they said. Days of research, they said. Kill your coworkers if it gets messy and make sure it's a dream before you shoot, motherfucker, they said. Nobody told me I would be using chloroform on the old ladies." Olav sighs. "Her cat was very judgmental."

Working as a point is not an easy job to handle, with all the bullshit and constant unappreciation. They toast to that, too.

"By the way, Arthur," Rachel says, shoving her phone back into her bra after another few unsuccessful tries to turn it on. "We used the Unfuck-the-Fuckup Fund to get rid of that Dead-and-Preferably-Dead price Cobol put on your head. You know, the one Cobb left you behind with? All paid off, clean slate." She tilts her head. "I need you on a job in Japan next month. Bring Eames. He's a joy to work with."

"Aww, that’s sweet of you, thanks so much," Arthur mutters, hoping it came out more sarcastic than sincere, because drunk or not, he has standards to maintain.

He might have also heard something about Jonas’ mafia hitman cousin being involved in getting rid of their problems in Cologne. Arthur hates to even think about the Mr. Charles fuckup in Cologne.

There's a hand on his arm and he allows it without the usual urge to break that person's arm in three places.

Anežka shrugs. "We missed you last year when Cobb was dragging you through Seoul."

Ugh, Seoul. Arthur does not want to think about those weeks as well, preferably ever.

"Even this," he says gesturing with the umbrella from the previous drink, "is preferable to that fucking city."

"That's actually _I missed you, too_ , coming from you." Anežka grins at him. "We're touched."

"In the head, maybe," mutters Arthur and sighs.

**Author's Note:**

> Skye: So, I just wanted some random point men and point women getting drunk while bitching about people they work with. Then I realised I am old enough to actually write my own prompts. 
> 
> Megan: She wrote some lines, I wrote some lines, and now we're posting on AO3. That's how it goes, right?


End file.
